


Red Blood, White Steel, Blue Bullets

by Psyga315



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Crossover, Duelling, Gen, Originally Posted On SpaceBattles, Self-Insert, Singing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psyga315/pseuds/Psyga315
Summary: After an earthquake dislodges a family heirloom, Rob Langolier picked it up, only for the blade to displace him into 19th Century France where he comes across a kindly bishop and a man down on his luck. He soon obtains a pistol from the bishop that launched him back to the late 18th Century, around New York City where he find that revolution is imminent.As if adjusting to the ability to back and forth between these two periods of time wasn't hard enough, Rob also realizes that every time he speaks, it either becomes a full blown song or is tied to the rhythm of a background song, depending on which time he's in.Eventually, Rob will be stuck between a revolution and a rebellion, praying to survive both.





	1. Rise Up

**Author's Note:**

> So this is gonna be a weird thing for me to do. It's a Self-Insert fanfic set in across two fictionalized historical musicals, Hamilton and Les Miserables. Inspiration for this came from watching the Animatic for Congratulations from Hamilton the day that I moved into my new home and instantly fell in love with the story. Eventually I noticed the connection between Hamilton and Les Mis that, coupled with an idea I read on SpaceBattles (Thanks, Coeus) caused me to end up writing this fanfic.

_"No, not the face. Not the voice. It's the_ lifting _by which you remember a man."_

* * *

I used to never truly been fond of history. It’s often boring and trite. Why do we have to learn of the pasts of some dead presidents? Why did it matter if we knew about a small-scale war? It didn’t help that my dad was an enthusiastic collector of old weapons. All they did was collect dust. They held no significance to me, and they wouldn’t exactly work well as defenses if someone broke in.

I remember one weapon in particular. A rapier my dad had up in the dining room. My dad told me time and time again that the rapier was from 1823. He was always specific of the date, can’t just say 1800’s for whatever silly reason. He also told me that the rapier was from France.

Funny, I thought the French weren’t the fighting kind.

My dad never really told me much beyond those little factoids. I guess he respected the fact that I’m not as thrilled with history as he is. In a way, I was sort of glad about that. But at least once a month, I always end up having to hear at least some history lecture, though it _does_ fall on deaf ears.

I guess the moment I truly regretted ignoring the lessons was the day an earthquake struck the city. My city often gets hit with the minor tremors. The highest we ever got was a magnitude of six back in ‘66. This was merely half that and for the most part, it just jostled any high hanging objects. Fortunately, it didn’t knock any expensive vases down, but what it _did_ knock was the rapier.

It was so hung up high on the wall that this was the first time I saw it in close detail. The metal looked very dull, having lost most of its shine. What would have been shimmering paint on the foil now peeled off, leaving only a discolored gold seal on the grip. The seal was one bar overlapped on another, much like a plus sign. I decided to get a hold of it and try to bring it back to where it was…

But as my hand jostled around the grip, I heard a weird clicking sound. As I heard that, everything around me quickly turned into a snowy white as I heard a huge rush of what I could best sum up as artificial water crashing into me. I closed my eyes and plugged my ears as the sound overtook me.

“ _Are you in need of rest as well? You’ve seem to have fell…_ ”

Suddenly, I heard someone serenading me. I immediately opened my eyes and felt the cold around me. I was wearing nothing but my shirt and shorts when I got the rapier, so when my exposed skin touched the snow, I immediately jumped up.

“ _Yes! Yes I would like a room! I don’t wish for the snow to be my tomb!_ ” I looked to a bishop who was offering me his hand. I then looked back to what I had said… Or rather _sang_. I covered my mouth and then tried to speak. “ _Aaaaaaahhhh…_ ” I gave out a vocalized note before I shut my mouth with my hands.

“ _What seems to be the problem, young man?”_ He asked me. He seemed to be singing too.

“ _Can’t you see that we’re singing?_ _Do you not hear this insidious ringing?_ ” I had to admit, I had a pretty nice singing voice.

“ _You are simply delirious. Come in, there’s food and water to spare and shelter to keep you warm…_ ”

“ _Thanks but I have to get home…_ ” I looked around. I was _nowhere_ near my home. I wasn’t even in my living room. I was out in the cold by a church. “ _How far did I roam?_ ”

“ _Come in, the weather’s quite serious! There’s plenty of warmth to share!_ ” The Bishop was right. I sighed and complied, heading inside his church to brave the cold snowstorm.

* * *

Turns out I wasn’t the only one the old man took in. Parallel to me in the dining room was what appeared to be a homeless guy shovelling the food in his mouth. While I had some lunch prior to landing in this church, I looked at the porridge and thought about it. This might be my last meal for a while, and while I felt like I should criticize my fellow guest’s table manners, the man _does_ have a point in eating like no tomorrow. I took a spoon and ate the porridge, not too fast like the guest, but not too slow either. Just the right pace for me to both enjoy the porridge and feel full by the time I’m done.

“ _Bless the food we eat today._ ” The Bishop said to us. My family was not supremely God-fearing, but we did follow basic traditions of religion. Grace was one of them as I did my prayer before eating the porridge. As I did, the Bishop looked over to my direction. “ _This rapier you have… Why do you possess it? Are you a guard?_ ” As soon as the Bishop said that, the man in front of me stopped eating and focused on me.

“ _N-no… I just happened to hold it…_ ” I replied. The man resumed to his eating while the Bishop got up.

“ _No worries… I don’t mean to pry. I just wish to know why… Why a man would hold such a weapon?_ ” He said before leaving. By that point, the man had finished his food and so would I a few minutes later. I presumed that I would be sleeping somewhere tonight so I followed the Bishop where he would present to me a bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was enough to get me to rest for the while.

* * *

Though, I only got a few hours of sleep before I heard a ruckus. I stirred awake as I saw a shadow pass me. Dazed, I stumbled out of bed and took the rapier. By the time I steadied myself, I ended up seeing the homeless man from before carrying a bag of silverware. Before I could say anything, the man looked at me. As he did, I felt my body go cold.

This man…

This man is robbing the Bishop…

And I’m a witness!

We both ready ourselves. Me holding the rapier and him holding a plate. My body trembled as I recalled my father teaching me what to do in case a robber ever went into our house and what to expect.

I bit my lips and I knew full well…

It’s him or me, our lives will never be the same.

I held the rapier. The hand holding it shook.

We clashed. I may have the more potentially lethal weapon, but his was defensive. The rapier stabbed into the plate. My loose grip on the rapier proved to be a fatal mistake as the handle forcibly pried my hand open and caused the rapier to fall to the floor. Seeing me with no weapon, my assailant took advantage and swung the plate over my head.

**CLANG!**

* * *

I awoke when it was morning in my bed. My head hurt slightly, but not enough for me to consider it painful. Why did the thief bother to put me back to my bed? I figured my fate would be sealed the moment I lost my weapon…

Speaking of, I noticed the weapon lying by my feet. I guess the thief didn’t want to carry a weapon in case he ran into some police. It makes sense, if you tot a weapon, you’re expected to receive lethal force and telling from how much silverware he was looting, he more or less wanted to retire.

But I assume a lot out of a thief. It took me a while to ponder over whether or not I should tell the Bishop that I saw him taking the silverware. Would he believe me? Would I crush his spirit by telling him that he became the farmer to his viper?

It didn’t take long for me to ponder my next action as I heard the pained grunts of someone. I ran to the source of the talking and saw some guards holding the thief, all while one of them held the bag of stolen silverware. I gave a brief moment to sigh in relief as I saw the Bishop confronting him.

“ _My friend, you left so early,_ _surely something slipped your mind…_ ” Confusion set my mind as he walked over to two silver candlesticks, picked them up, and…

Handed it over to the thief?! One of the guards looked directly at me as I realized I was being watched. The Bishop merely turned his head, smiled to me, and then turned his attention back to the thief.

“ _Release him, this man has spoken true._ ” He told them. I could tell in the guards’ blank stares that this came out of left field for them as it did for me. For a moment, I was ready to call the Bishop out, but that’s when he spoke up some more. “ _You must use this precious silver to become an honest man…_ ” That next moment convinced me what the Bishop intended to do with the thief. I merely backed away as the thief got up, looked to me, and then proceeded to walk away with the silver.

“ _You might ask me why I set him free, but you see, God has a plan for him._ ” He sang as he walked to me, patted me on the back, and led me to a different part of the room. “ _Just as he had for you…_ ” At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. He led me into the bedchamber where I rested and picked up the rapier. “ _Do you see this symbol?_ ” He showed me the plus sign on the rapier. “ _The other night, I had a dream of a man with this sign. The light from it, it truly shined. You, young man, are the holder, and thus, this burden you shall shoulder…_ ” He walked over to a cupboard and opened it up. When I saw what he took out, I leaped back to the wall as my heart pounded.

Mostly because I didn’t expect a Bishop to be packing heat. While the gun was mostly wooden with discolored gold plating on it, the same discolored gold as the sign on the rapier as I later noted, I recognized it as a gun. However, the Bishop merely held the gun not by the handle, but by the side. He showed me the metallic plate. On it, right in between what appeared to be its hammer and strike plate was a silver stainless steel dash. It was a simple, short dash, almost akin to a minus symbol if comparing it to the rapier’s plus.

“ _Our lord works in mysterious ways. I held this gun for you to appraise._ ” The Bishop said.

“ _Where did you get this from?_ ” I asked him.

“ _A man who refused to tell me his name. But I knew he was filled with regret. I do not know what fate holds in store, nor do I know if it’s already been set. All I know though is that this gun was meant for you… Now grab it, and pray you come through!_ ” I took the gun from his hands with such force that I almost cocked it.

“ _Come through what?_ ” I looked at it as he also handed me the rapier. As I took it with my other hand, my thumb brushed through the minus on the gun. Again, I heard the click, heard the waves, and saw the white vision. But there was something new.

A putrid smell. But I didn’t immediately chalk it up to a side effect of the gun, rather, I realized it was coming from the pile of trash that became my new bed. The sound of seagulls cawed as I struggled to get off the trash, its stench clinging onto me like no tomorrow. I only began to think of going home and taking a bath.

Though, as I looked around, I noticed I wasn’t anywhere in the church. In fact, I was out in an open town by a port. Something tipped me off a while back when I saw that the guards had black coats on instead of the usual blue uniforms or even the church looking somewhat old-fashioned and yet feeling like it was brand new. However, I easily brushed it off.

Here? Not so much. The buildings around me were too old looking for me to recognize. The houses and buildings weren’t made of concrete like I was adjusted to, but of wood and brick. Now, if it was one or two buildings, this would be fine, but it was a whole _town_ full of buildings like these. I _knew_ where I lived was a concrete jungle. This was _not_ a concrete jungle.

My breath became short. I looked around, trying to find the Bishop, but to no avail. People looked to me and raised eyebrows. That’s when I noticed the outfits. They weren’t… They weren’t t-shirts and pants like most people would wear, but rather some sort of renaissance style outfits with frilly cloths sticking out of the collar. These I _knew_ were not clothes that any normal, sane person would wear.

I noticed something that gave me the _brief_ semblance of familiarity. While I wasn’t old enough to enter one, I _knew_ what a bar looked like. I marched in and saw that the bar did not look like any normal bar. It had the same feel, wooden flooring, a bar stand with a bartender, and people drinking drinks, but it didn’t _feel_ like a bar, rather some sort of pub.

“ ** _TO THE REVOLUTION!_** ”

I heard a trio of rowdy men shout as they held up their drinks. At first, I thought nothing of it. Just some dumb young adults drunkenly slurring nonsense. I instead approached the bartender.

“Excuse me, sir.” I noticed my voice. It was no longer singing. Rather, I was speaking normally. “I was wondering if you can answer my pondering…” I stopped upon noticing _something_ wasn’t right with the way I was speaking. I waited a few moments before I spoke up again. “You see, sir, I got myself lost, so, I figured I could ask you, sir…” I heard a beating that wasn’t my heart. As if that wasn’t odd enough, my voice spoke along with the beats, as if I were timing at which point to drop a rhyme. In a way, it felt as though I was rapping to someone’s beatbox. I began to stammer while the bartender just glared at me.

“Revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?” I heard one of the men seemingly ask me that question. It only made me tense up even more. It didn’t help that the beatboxing began again, as if asking me to respond to him. Before I turned around to answer him, someone else spoke and completely stopped the pulsing sound.

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?” I turned around to see a man with a small circle beard, his brown hair tied back in a ponytail as he wore a golden colored jacket. Thankfully, he wasn’t asking me, but rather a dark-skinned bald man with a bluish gray coat. Although he wasn’t looking at me, I felt as though he had calmed me down specifically. Or at least took the heat as the three guys start to ask him questions. I sighed in relief as I turned to the bartender.

“So what’ll it be?” He asked me.

“Where the hell am I, for one.” I asked back, my voice beginning to time and adjust to a new beat.

“Why you’re in New York City, don’tcha know?” He said. New York? I looked around. The area did not feel like New York to me. If anything, it felt more like a ridiculously retro bar. Well, at least I know where I am now. My mouth began to feel dry, though.

“Ah, I see. I’m looking for some water, please.” I told him. He took out a flask and began to pour out some.

“That’ll be four bucks, baby, you want fries with that?” He told me. I took out a ten from my pocket and left it on the table. “The hell is this?” He asked me.

“You haven’t seen a ten dollar before?” I asked him.

“This is fake!” He shouted at me.

“Give me a break!” I shouted back. I then groaned and flexed the bill around, showing him the watermark of a political figure. He just looked at me like I was crazy. It didn’t help that the guy behind me began to rap about how awesome he was. So I turned around. “Hey, guys, this guy thinks this bill is crap, so could you stop with your rap and tell this man this isn’t scrap?” I told the group. One of the guys, a tanned-skinned man with curly black hair wrapped in a ponytail wearing a blue jacket, took the bill, then looked at the portrait.

“Yo, dude, check it!” He told his friends to look at the bill. At first I had no idea what was going on, but then the guy boasting about his shot or whatever looked at it himself.

“Damn, son, this looks like me!” He said.

“Whaaaaaaat?” I said

“See, I’m already famous enough to have my own bank note! Now, I shouldn’t dote, but this gives me a lot to gloat, so let me scream it from the top of my throat…” He then proceeded to continually rap about his shot again. I began to blink at the total and utter weirdness of the choreographed rapping. Eventually, he stopped, if only to realize that he was getting overexcited.

“Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd!” The curly haired man said as they all began to sing and marched out of the bar. I sat down, mouth agape.

“What the fu-”

“Ignore them.” A man seated parallel to me said. The dark skinned man who was asked what he’d fall for.

“So… I’m guessing you’re Mr. Burr, sir?” I asked.

“That I am. So what brings you to New York?” He asked.

“Well… It’s kinda weird, mind’s kinda geared, like I disappeared…” My mouth still spat out rhymes, even if inappropriate for a conversation.

“Slow down, I get ya, times are getting rough, times are getting tough, but there’s a time where you have to say you had enough.” He said.

“But I don’t know how to-” The man placed his finger on my lips.

“Talk less…” I silenced myself. “Smile more.” As he said that, my lips began to fold upwards. I felt a little calmer now.

“Thank you, Mr. Burr, sir.” I said.

“No problem.” He said.

“So… what’s going on with those guys?” I asked.

“Oh, they’re just yammering on about that Revolution.”

“That doesn’t give me a lot of resolution.”

“You mean you haven’t heard? The colonies are on their knees, getting ready to rise up.” Burr said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow, it’s hard to swallow…” I said.

“I understand. Personally, I’m kinda worried.” He leaned in and whispered. “I’m with the idea, but there’s so much happening. You want to know the difference between a Revolution and a Rebellion?” I decided to nod. “The difference is in who lives, who dies, and who tells your story. We win? It’s a Revolution, _they_ win? It’s a Rebellion. I don’t want to be on the wrong side if they lose. So I’m just gonna wait for it. You should do the same too.” He said.

“…Your words kinda ring hollow, and I think I need to wallow.” I stood up. “Thanks by the way. I’ll try to talk less…”

“And smile more.” Burr said to me. I began to stumble away. Dehydration was getting to me and I needed a drink _fast_ , unfortunately, the money I have isn’t viable. By this point, I’ve begun to piece together a good idea where I was. I wasn’t a big history aficionado, but we _did_ learn about the Revolutionary War in school.

Something that I felt that I was now a part of.


	2. Black Glass to Freedom

So, to survive in Revolutionary America, I’d obviously need the money for it. Money that I don’t think my ten dollars could cover, if they were to even be acceptable. Though I doubt I’d be able to get any work done as soon as humanly possible. I thought about the thief who stole the silver and got away with it. If he saw my situation, he’d just laugh.  
  
That’s when something hit me. If I was able to go to America via the gun and to wherever the church was via the rapier, would I be able to go _back_? I decided to experiment. Heading into an alleyway, I pulled out the rapier and brushed my hand across the seal like I had with the pistol. I heard the oceans crashing again before I fell back.  
  
I landed on something that began to squirm.  
  
“Hey! Get off!” A man barked at me. I got up and noticed I was still in an alleyway… However, before it was empty, _now_ it was crowded with dozens of dirty people with ratty and ruined clothes, all looking at me and my comparatively fine clothes. Some of the people in the crowd were children, equally dirty and with ragged clothes. I realized just how fresh and new I was compared to them. If I had known anything about walking downtown and passing by a homeless person, I knew what would happen next. Immediately I backed away, but it seemed their reaction was faster.  
  
“Get ‘im!” An old lady rasped out as the group descended upon me like a pack of zombies, all while telling me, in a chorus, about their situation. I began to run toward where there seemed to be an exit…  
  
That’s when I saw a quintetto of horses galloping towards me. Shit. I’m dead. Either I get run over by the horses or I get mauled by the homeless. If I pull out the gun or rapier, I might end up either being treated as a criminal or a serious threat. So, I just cowered. Fortunately, the horses stopped.  
  
“ _Out of the way! Those who impede the law will pay!_ ” The man who sung out had a strong lung and a deep voice. It seemed that his song caused the others to back away. The man then turned his eyes to me. As if to contrast the Redcoats of America, his uniform was a dark blue coat. He had a hat that seemed to be wider than a Redcoat’s hat. I could see the gray hairs in his beard, some wrinkles in his skin, and a sense of determination within his eyes. “ _Get on._ ” He told me softly. I just nodded and hopped on the horse. I held onto him for dear life as the horses galloped away.  
  
We went through a gate that opened for us, then closed just before the poor could get to it. I turned. They were still singing…  
  
“ _Like the waves crash on the sand, like a storm that'll break any second, there's a hunger in the land, there's a reckoning still to be reckoned and there's gonna be hell to pay… at the end of the day!_ ” They then grabbed onto the gate like starving zombies. I trembled a bit as they stopped singing and just stared at me.  
  
“ _Now tell me, what you were doing there? You could have died out there!_ ” I turned to the man’s back.  
  
“ _Sorry, sir, I might have gotten lost… I didn’t realize what would be the cost…_ ” I said. He just sighed.  
  
“ _It’s alright. Don’t do that again._ ” He said.  
  
“ _Thank you…_ ” I said. The man just nudged his head over.  
  
“ _Where were you heading?_ ” He asked.  
  
“ _I guess somewhere to get a job with good pay. But I guess I just don’t know the way._ ” I chuckled.  
  
“ _We’re heading to the mayor’s place. I hear he could get you a job at your pace._ ” One of the other guards said. I could hear the officer just grumble.  
  
“ _Very well, we’ll take you to the mayor… Just don’t expect him to be your payer._ ” He said. He rode off as I held on. The ride took me for _several_ bumps, each one had me feeling like I’d fall and crack my skull on the pavement. But the more I rode on the horse, the more I felt secure. I guess it was because of the man riding it. I could feel, just from the cold and strict demeanour of the man, that he would be able to stop me from falling.  
  
We soon stopped outside of a large factory. The men got off their horses. I never went horseback riding before, so I tried to figure out how I was gonna get off.  
  
“ _Here, let me help you._ ” The man I rode with just picked me up and placed me on the ground.  
  
“ _Thank you again!_ ” I felt like I had formed some kind of bond with the man. While he just looked at me before walking away, I knew some sort of light was sparked inside of me. “ _My name’s Rob! Rob Langolier!_ ” The man turned his head back at me.  
  
“ _And I’m Javert…_ ” With that, he headed into the factory.

* * *

The factory was nothing but wooden walls and floors. The wood was gnawed and looked to be as old and grizzled as Javert. He just gave me a stern look and spoke to me.  
  
“ _Well here you are, now we must depart. I must meet with Monsieur Madeleine._ ” I had to pick my ears because I thought he had said that he’d meet a certain little girl in a yellow dress and hat. However, his terminology of “monsieur” and the names of Javert, one said with a silent T, and Madeleine, one that made me think of the girl in the yellow hat, I confirmed that I was in France.  
  
French was perhaps one of the only classes I paid attention to, if only to broaden my tongue and help me in the situation where I’m lost in Paris and I need to find the bathroom. Thing is, I never once _spoke_ French when I was here. In fact, everyone I spoke – erm, _sang_ – to in this place sang in English, most with a _very_ British accent.  
  
The more I thought about it, the more my mind went to unravel. Javert and I went our separate ways as I began to explore the factory, hoping to find _some_ employer. I _did_ hear some chorus though… The same song that the poor sung, except now it was all by women. I gulped. I wanted to stick close to Javert, but I figured that since we were in the same building, all I might need to do is holler and he’d come bail me out.  
  
Though, I realize he might be one of those cold people that won’t just save the same guy twice. In either case, what I did next was a gamble.  
  
I saw a door being opened, one leading into where I heard the song. I rushed in to see what was going on. All I noticed is some gossipy hens pecking over a letter. While I was on one end of the room and the reader was on the other end, I heard her as though I was right in front of her. Apparently, someone needs the money for their sick daughter? And they’re upset at this because?  
  
… Wait, why am I concerning myself with trivial shit?  
  
“ _Hey!_ ” The girls quieted and turned their heads to me. “ _Um…_ ” I was still new to singing my words. Whatever I needed to say, in this case, ‘can I talk to an employer’, ends up being warped into something that ends up rhyming and matching to the rhythm of the song. The problem is that it takes time for my brain to think of the sentence and for me to actually _say_ it. So, it was just a few moments of awkward silence before I spoke up:  
  
“ _Could I get a job? I need the money myself, to survive the oncoming mob, and the emptiness in my purse, it is the worst…_ ” Fortunately, a red-headed man stepped forward to me.  
  
“ _You’re at the wrong room, you want the males._ ” He told me. I nodded and thanked him. I turned around as the girls soon got into a catfight. As that happened, a man in a top hat, a suede jacket and a waist coat came into the room. I nearly bumped into him.  
  
“ _Oh! Sorry!_ ” I said. He just looked at the girls and shoved me aside.  
  
“ _Will someone tear these two apart!?_ ” I took the chance to get away from the room and try to find the men’s room in the factory. As I did, I bumped into someone who was half my size.  
  
“ _Watch it!_ ” He told me. I just stood there and looked around for where the males’ room is. I turned to the kid.  
  
“ _Hey, you know where the male room is?_ ” I asked. The boy just sighed and pointed to the side of the hall I didn’t explore. There, in my view, I saw men working on what seemed to be glass. I noticed that there was some sort of glass in the other room as well, though they were making beaded necklaces rather than just buttons. I walked in and waved hello to the men. They ignored me and continued to work the glass.  
  
“ _Hey!_ ” I jumped as I saw a lady in a blue dress and a blue head cloth covering her graying curly hair. She seemed to be like the redhead in the other room in the sense of being the only woman in a room full of men. She walked over to a table that held a crate, picked it up and struggled with it. I rushed over and lifted it with her.  
  
“ _H-hey,_ ” I struggled to lift the crate. I was no muscle builder, but compared to the lady’s frail looking arms, I was capable by comparison. “ _I… I need to work so can you-”_  
  
_“We need this delivered! All the men in this room are busy. Take this to a man down by the street and help us with this tizzy!”_ She asked me.  
  
“ _Erm… Will I get paid?_ ” She asked.  
  
“ _Yes! Now go!_ ” She said. I carried the crate. I looked down at it. There were a lot more of those sharp black glasses, though they are now sharpened into what looked to be buttons. They looked like jewels. There were so many in the box. I have no idea how much they’re worth. The sheer quantity of the buttons suggests they’re cheap, but their quality says the opposite. As I investigated the crate…  
  
**SMASH!**  
  
I fell, though I kept the crate mostly intact. Some of the buttons fell onto the floor, but didn’t shatter. Seems they’re tough. As I picked up the buttons, I looked at what crashed into me, or rather… _who_.  
  
She was a lovely looking lady in a pink dress. She had long, straight brown hair and hazel eyes. She looked to me like a deer in headlights.  
  
“ _S-sorry!_ ” I squeaked as I finished putting away the buttons. As I did, I ran out of the factory, carrying the box of buttons.

* * *

Once I was away from the factory, I managed to look at the crate, then took a few of the buttons. There were a ton, so I doubt anyone would miss them. About five would do. Any more and I start to feel like that thief. Then again, if the bishop was here, he’d tell me to use those five buttons to earn enough money to be an honest man.  
  
Though, I thought of how much I’d get paid. I never really considered what sort of money is made here _or_ in Revolutionary America. Seeing as I would be paid for this job, I figured to finish the job here, see what I get, then head to America to get a feel for what _they_ pay.  
  
I had considered that, since America _was_ owned by the British at the time, they worked on pounds. With the talk of Revolution being _imminent_ and not actually happening now, there was a window for me to get those pounds before the tensions reach past the boiling point. _After_ would be the bigger problem. America definitely didn’t get their fifty states united until long after the revolution nor would its economy be fixed overnight.  
  
Thus, the concept of modern money won’t even _be_ a concept. So, I’d have to make my own currency. Five buttons might not be enough, but in another country, if I manage to play it right, word my sentences on what these buttons are, I’d be able to turn what are just glass buttons made by the bucket load into a luxurious item.  
  
It’s another reason why I took only five. The rarer an item is, the more value it has to it. If I were to just take pockets full of glass buttons, they’d just pass for regular old buttons. _But_ , if I were to sell the buttons as though they were some rare jewel, then I might score rich. _Then_ there’s the fact that I might get paid handsomely for this job. I’m not sure what the French pay, but if it’s in gold coins or some other kind of metal, I could take one of those and find someone who values the metals used to make it.  
  
If my practice continues after the inevitable war, then I’m set for life. But it’s a huge gamble that I only thought of in the half-hour walk I had. There was a chance that people would become wiser to what I’d be selling. I’d eventually have to figure out where to get work in America instead of selling cheap buttons. There could also be a chance that I get found out _here_ and lose the potential to gain money, if I’m not arrested.  
  
That said, I decided to take the risks. My client stood by a carriage, looking at a watch. He seemed like a fancy type of person, with his clean looking clothes. He pulled away from the watch and looked to me, then nodded.  
  
“ _Ah, finally. The_ _package has arrived!_ ” He approached me in a stride. I felt nervous, squirmed, and handed him the box. He looked at it, his eyes glaring at each button as he hummed. He pulled away. “ _Well met!_ ” He tossed a sack of coins at me. I caught it as soon as it reached arm’s length. I shook it. There seemed to be a lot of coins in there. Ten? No. More than that! The man tipped his hat and placed the box into his carriage. “ _To Montfermeil!_ ” The horses ran off, taking the buttons with him. With my hefty load, I ran back to the place. Obviously, the pay was for the factory and _not_ me. I snuck a coin into my pocket just in case I didn’t get a cut.

* * *

As I came back to the factory, I saw the woman I bumped into standing outside, looking at nothing and instead just singing.  
  
“ _But the tigers come at night, with their voices soft as thunder. As they tear your hope apart. As they turn your dream to shame._ ” There was a melody in her voice, and yet, with what she was singing and how she let out a few tears afterwards, I realized that she wasn’t really singing.  
  
She was _lamenting_ over a broken dream, pouring her heart out and explaining her story in a beautiful, yet heart wrenching song. She went into detail about a paramour who had left her and how she had hoped that he would return. I could hear anger in her as she mentioned how he took her ‘childhood’ in stride. I just stood there and listened. She paid no attention to me. As she finished her song, I nearly began to cry. When she turned to see me, however, I wiped my tears. I then looked at the bag…  
  
“ _it was beautiful…_ ” I sang to her. I opened the bag and handed her about ten golden coins. As I offered them to her, her eyes went wide.  
  
“ _I can’t-”_ I put my finger to my lips.  
  
“ _Your dream may live another day… So long as you don’t lose your way… I’m sure that God still has a plan, so please take these ten pieces, and become an honest woman…_ ” I remembered what the bishop said to the thief and, in a way, I felt as though his spirit entered me and took over my body. However, what I did was purely my own volition. I wanted this lovely lady, with her voice as soft as a breeze, to continue living for her dream. She hesitated, then took the gold from my hands.  
  
“ _Thank you…_ ” She looked to me with her hazel colored eyes. I blushed.  
  
“ _Think nothing of it…_ ” I muttered softly and lowered my head. I then went over to the factory.

* * *

I entered the factory and gave the remaining money to the old lady. She hefted the bag, then placed it on the ground and spilled the coins out. She counted them out meticulously, separating each one in groups of five, all of them spread out. Eventually, she stopped. There were thirty-nine coins in total.  
  
“ _Hmm… They must be running low on funds._ ” She sighed. Good. I worried she might have accused me of stealing. … I mean, I _did_ , but still. She took three coins and handed them to me. “ _Here’s your pay._ ” I looked at the three coins in my hand. “ _Sorry, but everyone needs money to live another day…_ ” I just shook my head.  
  
“ _No need. I’ll accept these funds. Just let me know if you have more errands._ ” I said. With that, I left.

* * *

As I exited the factory, I noticed the lady was gone. She must have gone home. I took out the fourth coin and looked at them in my hands. I had no idea what these are worth here, but if I were to guess, these were France’s version of dollars. Of course, not exactly. They’d be worth less than an actual dollar if they were exchanged for currency in say, Britain or America.  
  
But in the context of just being in France, these would be a dollar. Accounting for how this was the past, the value of a dollar would be significantly larger in the sense that, if I were to take a dollar from my time and spend it here, I’d be able to buy the entire stock in a butcher’s shop and still have enough left to buy some fruit. Accounting for that, I gave that woman a good estimate of a hundred modern day dollars, give or take. I wondered if she was the lady with the sick daughter. If that were the case, would ten of those coins be enough to save her life? Would it only have taken one?  
  
I jingled the coins in my hand. I had to remember why I took the job in the first place and not concern myself with that woman or her life. I moved to a quieter place and brushed my thumb across the minus on the pistol and braced myself for the crashing of waves and the bumping into a stranger or even trash.  
  
Instead, I came back to the place I left when I went to France. With the four coins in hand, I decided to explore the town in search of a gold buyer…  
  
**WHAM!**  
  
That’s when I bumped into a man in a red coat and fell onto the ground… Redcoat… Crap!  
  
“S-sorry!” I clutched the coins in my hand and hastily tried to put away the gun. “I didn’t see where I was looking! I-” That’s when he hauled me up.  
  
“Hmm…” I looked at the man. He looked relatively strong, with a chiseled jawline, clean-shaven face, and a beefy appearance. He had short black hair, though most of it was covered by his hat, and dark brown eyes, almost black if he isn’t in some sort of light. “Tell me, do you want to make some money?” He asked me.  
  
“M-me!?” I would _jump_ at the opportunity, but I wasn’t sure what kind of job I’d be doing. Knowing that the British lorded over America, it would probably be something heinous like rough up some people or even take part in ‘crowd control’, by which I meant killing protesting civilians. However, while I had a solid plan to make money, there was no guarantee that I’ll succeed.  
  
“Yes. My Second decided to flake and I need someone to take. Decide now or I’ll be pretty late.” As though he put me against the wall and held a gun to my head, I nodded. “Great!” He took me by the arm and we went off. I had no idea what a ‘Second’ is, but I believe it to be akin to a ‘second in command’. Has the war just begun? I didn’t want to question the Redcoat, as I worried that he’ll react negatively, so I kept quiet, even when we went to go on a boat ride across a river.

* * *

I had so many burning questions, but I kept them close to my chest. Where were we going? What did he mean by Second? Why did we travel on a rowboat? Who is this lady with the short black hair wearing a white outfit that decided to row with us? Who is this man? What’s his rank? I decided to adopt Burr’s advice as a survival tactic: Talk less. Smile more.  
  
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before we arrived at our destination. From what I heard, we went to a place in New Jersey. I’ve been there a few times, but to see the place before it became the New Jersey I knew was breathtaking. We didn’t take a car or a train to get there, we had to row on a boat and so we took a rather slow scenic route of the marsh.  
  
Of course, I didn’t address any sort of excitement out loud. As far as he was concerned, I was a citizen of this time and not some person who hopped across time. That said, I’m surprised he hasn’t questioned my outfit… No one did. A simple t-shirt and shorts in a time where women would wear large, fancy dresses and the men wear uniforms? Especially showing money that wouldn’t exist for another two hundred years? Yeah, no one questioned me in the slightest. Though, I’m glad about that. Otherwise I’d be screwed in trying to explain my story without getting barbequed. In fact, I never _thought_ of a cover story. We got off the rowboat and walked towards a clearing in a forest. As we continued, I spoke up.  
  
“What are we doing?” I asked. I couldn’t take it anymore. If this was a routine inspection or even a quelling, I wouldn’t have minded, but it was just the three of us walking in the woods. Usually there’d be some shady stuff happening.  
  
“We’re going to a duel.” The Redcoat said. Suddenly, this made more sense, though I often imagined duels happening in a wild western setting, not some forest. We soon encountered three other people, one of whom seemed to be dressed like a doctor. I began to understand the third person’s role, to tend to the wounded once the duel’s over. Though I wondered what the Second’s role is… Would I have to shoot someone? The Redcoat pushed me forward.  
  
“It’s your last chance to negotiate! Send in your Second so he can set the record straight!” He commanded the opposing trio’s leader. He nodded and sent him forward.  
  
“Erh… Hi…” Tick. Tock. I felt the beat of the rhythm count against me. I turned to the Redcoat. “What exactly are we negotiating?”  
  
“Mr. Jacob Eacker is charged with the crime of dodging taxes. Now chat with his Second so we can get the facts straight!” He barked. I immediately turned around.  
  
“Jake says he ain’t payin’. He says that your so-called king shouldn’t be layin’ while his guards go out there slayin’ all the good workin’ men and women who are just prayin’ for a better tomorrow, a better America!” Jacob’s Second spoke up, getting louder with each rhyme. By the time he mentioned America, he wasn’t looking at me, rather at the Redcoat.  
  
“I heard enough, Second, come back. Now’s the time for me to attack!” He cocked his pistol, as did Jacob. I immediately ran back to the woman… Only for her to turn around as the men got ready to do their ten paces.  
  
“H-hey! The bloodshed’s happening this way!” I shouted to her. She ignored me and stood there, as though there _were_ no duel. I tried to talk to the Redcoat, but he seemed invested in the duel, his back turned to Jacob with his pistol held up.  
  
“Look him in the eye, aim no higher… Summon the courage you require, then count…” He muttered. Suddenly, I heard a chorus of people counting…  
  
**1 2 3 4 5 6 7…**  
  
I wasn’t sure where the voices were coming from, but once they got to seven, I noticed that Jacob began to turn around. I wasn’t entirely sure how duels worked, but if the movies showed anything and the counting could confirm, it would be ten paces, turn and fire.  
  
“LOOK OUT!” I took out my gun and before I noticed, I had squeezed the trigger. A blue bullet flew out of my gun for a moment before it turned into a streaking light that pierced Jacob in the knee. The sudden pain caused him to jerk his hand into the sky and threw away his shot. He got onto the ground and writhed in pain as the Redcoat just turned around and groaned.  
  
“A bloody cheater.” He walked up to Jacob and held him up. “Shouldn’t have bothered giving you a chance. Time to pay the king his due.” He dug into Jacob’s pockets and took out several bank notes before tossing him onto the ground. “Be lucky I’m not arresting you.” He turned around and patted me on the back. “Let’s go.”

* * *

I had stood there in a daze. I was no stranger to holding a gun, as my dad often took me out hunting, but shooting? That’s a whole different story. My dad taught me how to shoot, yes, but I never once took that into execution. What I did was me just acting on pure instinct mixed with my fingers trembling with fear at the idea that Jacob was gonna turn his gun on me next.

  
The boat ride back was filled with worry as I mechanically rowed the boat. Did I kill the man? No… I couldn’t have… He has a doctor waiting to heal him. I’m sure he’ll be fine. But what if the wound got infected? And given how _our_ doctor would rather ignore the duel than to be on standby, perhaps the same is true for theirs?  
  
By the time we got back to New York, I was hyperventilating. I couldn’t sit still and once the boat landed by the shore, I got off and immediately gagged. The Redcoat was the next person to get off. He patted me on the back.  
  
“Not bad for your first shot.” He said.  
  
“How did you-”  
  
“You’re shocked. You gagged. First timers tend to get really tense when it’s their first shot, let alone their first _kill_. You need to have an iron will. Come, let’s have a drink.” He took off his red coat and handed it over to the doctor, who took it away. I followed him.  
  
“So… Is that doctor a friend of yours or…?” I asked.  
  
“Her name’s Melanie, and let’s just say she’s my preferred doctor,” something wasn’t quite right, given how, if I am in the time I think I was in, women being prominent workers, let alone doctors, was unheard of, “and before you ask, my name is Samuel Roth, though friends call me Sammy.” Without the coat, the man wore a plain white dress shirt. We walked on our way to the nearest inn and just barged in.  
  
“A round for me and my friend.” Sammy placed a simple bank note, which, as I looked at it, looked more like a miniaturized contract than an actual bank note, on the counter. The person who ran the inn just nodded and went to make beer. I sat next to him as he just smiled.  
  
“I could have had him arrested, you know?” I turned to him. “When I first charged him for the dough, I could have gotten him arrested right then and there. However, I wanted to see him fight fair and square. I want him to earn his chance to be cleared of the crime, yet even then, he was still a little slime.”  
  
“You’re doing a risky business, I’d say it’s kinda witless.” That’s when two mugs slammed down on the counter.  
  
“Maybe it is… But if he wants freedom, then he must be earnest and earn it. That goes for the revolution. To see their resolution, they must be earnest and earn it.” He then took his mug. “I want to see them fight for their right. I want to give them a sporting chance. I want to see them take their stance. Though…” He soon smiled and sipped. “I may not live to see their glory, but I’ll gladly watch their fight. Although if their children tell their story… They won’t tell the story of our night.” I raised an eyebrow.  
  
“What do you mean?” I took my own beer but sipped it slightly. While I surprisingly tolerated the sugary and distilled taste, I still didn’t enjoy drinking beer. I smacked my lips a bit.  
  
“We’re nothing but hounds, spawned from an angle of time. Us existing here is a crime…”  
  
“What are you talking about?” I asked. He leaned in and whispered.  
  
“Take out your bill. The one that was discussed earlier. The one that caused that Founding Father such joy.” He wasn’t speaking in rhyme, nor did he match the rhythm… It was as though he spoke _normally_. With a blank stare, I got out my ten-dollar bill. He snatched it from my hand and scanned it. “Series… 1976.” I blinked as he crumpled the bill and dropped it by my side. “You came from the future… like me…” My jaw dropped.  
  
“W-what the…” I began to stutter as he grabbed his mug.  
  
“Raise a glass to battle! For freedom that they must fight to earn! No matter how we retaliate. Raise your glass for the both of us!” I subconsciously took my mug.  
  
“Tomorrow, there’ll more like us, being in a story of the fight! Being in a story of the fight…” We both sang at the same time. He looked into my eyes as the revelation slowly dawned on me.  
  
He was just like me. Someone from the future who had been caught up in this mess… But… Who was he? _Really?_


End file.
